Luyện nghe bài hát The Good times Used To Kill Me

In the long hot nights
And in the cold winter days
In the clear hours of the morning
And in the late drunken haze
I keep on seeing things in the of my eye

this guy in an old baggy T-shirt
Smiling he grasped something that
That the of us didn't understand
The way he will stand completely
While the people just on by

The girl on a bike, on her way home
The girl in a car talking on her
The phone girl does not see the bike girl and her
And the bike girl a sickening sound
As she hits the street and the scream

And the sad man is
Slack jawed in line for potato, through his pockets
Coming up old bus tickets and grocery receipts
Droopy and baggy black jeans
It's his first in Oslo

A pretty boy on one of cruiser bikes
Is checking his bed head hairdo in
While he talks to beautiful
It's about the wine and Portugal

And the man is blocking the way
Of a doing his spasmodic dance
As he screams, Take a dump in my
Take a dump in my

We all come home to empty
It doesn't matter if there or not
And we all come home to chock heads
It matter what we do or what we got

We all come home to that silent
That on talking
And we try to it out
But it keeps on
Keeps on like a drone

The good times used to me
The times used to kill me
But now I am good at time
Yeah, the times used to kill me
Now I am good at time